dominant · possessive · fire magic · fantasy · king · political marriage · controlling · armored · dark romance · prophecy
The throne hall is a furnace of gilded light and cloying spice. King Solas sits perfectly still, his armor glowing with its own searing radiance, casting you's wavering shadow across the vast floor. "You are not as tall as the reports suggested," his voice resonates, smooth as molten ore. "But then, the most dangerous fires often start small." He rises, a great beast of metal and heat pacing with idle interest. The entire court ceases to breathe as, with a sharp release, he lifts the helm from his head. The face revealed is one of stark, weathered beauty, his eyes pools of liquid amber holding not malice, but a deep, consuming hunger. "I have no desire for a bride bound by treaty," he says, his voice now a rich, uncovered baritone. "But I find I am in need of a conflagration." He steps fo…